nobody is anybody. those of us who reside in the unholy city, who sprouted out of the blackness of an old root cellar, or sprayed forth like dark ashes from an uncleaned chimney... those of us who are permanent citizens of the unholy city are neither angels nor demons. although, we are sometimes called upon to play such parts for the purpose of some game that has been going on since the world began... acting out our roles in a drawn-out and intricate stageshow, that we will never understand, nor ever care to understand. nevertheless, we are really not so different from the tourists who sometimes visit our little town, and sometimes stay with us forever, who were also born of the same blackness as we were, as everything was. still, there is one respect in which we, the inhabitants of the unholy city, diverge from all others in this world, who are so caught up in the game that is going on, who identify so completely with the parts they have been given to play in the stageshow universe, that they actually believe themselves to be somebody, or something. we, on the other hand, suffer from no such delusion. we are nobodies. we are nothings. and even to speak in such terms may be claiming too much for ourselves. which is to say, we are just like everyone else, while they, without ever knowing or suspecting the true facts, are just like us.